The Dancing Knife
by nat rulz
Summary: Such a pretty knife. So shiny and sharp. Strange how much meaning it can have for me. Me Harry James Potter. A sharp knife a deserted classroom a silent castle a remote location an uncaring world. DmHp. One shot


**A/N:** A sad story, bittersweet but heartening. Hope you like.

**Pairing:** Dm/Hp. Slash! Don't like, don't read

**Diclaimer:** Not mine. Poems are.

_It twirls and it dances  
__It entrances my eyes  
__It spouts no romances  
__And it tells me no lies  
__It only tells truth  
__It tells me just fact  
__It leaves there some proof  
__And knows not of tact  
__It will tell me off  
__But let me cry  
__It won't every scoff  
__But will watch me die…_

**The Dancing Knife:**

Strange really. How innocent it looks. Watch as the sun dances off its surface. See how it reflects the things around it as I twirl it in my fingers. The shine of it is almost hypnotizing. Unmoved, uncaring; it merely exists. What would it matter if I drop it and it shatters? Who will miss it? It is of no importance in this world; yet where would we be without it? It's sharp, and potentially very dangerous, yet beautiful. It is deceiving. It cuts both ways. How easy would it be? To draw with it; to make it dance across my flesh drawing intricate swirls and designs; to make the red ink flow and lose myself in the design of death. Simple really.

Such a pretty knife. So shiny and sharp. Strange how much meaning it can have for me. Me; Harry James Potter. A sharp knife; a deserted classroom; a silent castle; a remote location; an uncaring world. I don't know what to do sometimes – no, scratch that – I don't know what to do nearly _all_ the time. To be, or not to be. That is the question. I've probably made a dent in the stone floor from all this spinning.

I've heard stories. Where people give up and find a release in their own demise. I am not like that. I will not give in; I will not give up. I have responsibilities, and yes it's a bitch, but who ever said it wasn't? But as the muggle song goes, _'So that I can remember to never go that far, could you leave me with a scar?'_ I need something to remind myself. To look at and remember my moment of weakness; remember that for one split second, I betrayed all I knew, all I believed in, for an easy way out. Well, I hate to break this to you, but it doesn't exist. Sucks, huh?

I don't really want to do this; one scar is enough. But I _need_ to. Not just to cut myself – I've read all about that – but for something bigger. Cutting yourself can lead to addiction. Addiction is a weakness. Why make Voldemort's job any easier than it already is? I wonder who would care if I did cut myself...Ron? Hermione? Yes, they would cry; they would be sad. But they would get over it. They're engaged after all. They have their own lives to lead. The year will be over soon, and then I'll be finished Hogwarts for good. What am I to do? Go to some remote place and wait for Voldemort to kill me? I think not.

The knife is tempting. Tell me, who of you out there has never been tempted? You might have dismissed the thought after a mere second, but that doesn't matter. If you haven't been, you will somewhere along your line. When the time comes, I hope you have the strength to say_, 'Yes, things are bad. Yes, they suck. And yes, I would rather jump off a bridge than face tomorrow, but I won't do it. Because it's not worth it. Because I am strong. Because I can and I will go on, and just when I think I can't go any longer, I'll go just one moment more...and then I'll know that I can do anything. Because I lasted.'_

The knife still dances. It's taunting me. Saying one thing and doing another is far too easy to do. It's difficult to stick to a decision once it's made. But decisions are made and they must be carried out. I raise the knife. Perhaps the cut won't hurt that much...maybe I'll strike an artery...no! I mustn't think like that! Yet it dances still. I raise it higher.

The knife doesn't wield me; I wield the knife.

It flashes in the light and as I prepare to strike – I mean, delicately cut – the door opens.

Typical. Here I am trying to ki- to teach myself a lesson by a de- small, tiny scratch, and I'm interrupted. Look at the pose I'm in. Hand outstretched, fingers clutching the knife so tightly they have turned white, eyes fixated on that glittering and always dancing blade. Probably doesn't look too good.

Oh, it's only Malfoy. Well this should be the highlight of his year. His silver eyes flicker from me to the knife and then back again. Probably would be a bit of a shock, I imagine. Well, he's not fond of me; maybe he'll let me get on with it. The knife still dances, my veins still call, and my lesson is incomplete. He's still staring at me.

"Can I help you?" I say calmly.

My voice is loud, strong, and practically screams_, 'I'm Harry Potter; bow down and worship me.'_ His eyes flicker to the knife once more, then back to me again.

"What are you doing?" he asks me softly. How stupid a question is that?

"I thought that should seem pretty obvious. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to it," I say, my voice ice cold. I turn my gaze back to the knife.

Just a small cut. That is all. I shouldn't have thought it. It's a lesson. Yes, Sirius died. Yes, my friends have been ignoring me slightly as of late. Yes, my family hates me, and yes, there's no one who actually loves me, but that's no reason to – God, this dancing knife is looking more tempting by the second...Tempting! Argh! There it is again! Well in that case, I'd better make a deeper incision. It's only fair, after all. Malfoy is watching me again. Is he still here? Has he nothing better to do? I raise the knife higher (it had dropped slightly since his intrusion) and focus my gaze solely on the light still giving it that dancing appearance. This is it. My dea- my _lesson_. I bite my lip. It won't hurt. It won't. All the same, I close my eyes. I don't need to watch this. But how can I see where to cut? What does it matter, as long as I do? The knife starts to descend and I repeat over and over in my head_, 'Just a cut, just a cut.'_ It doesn't make it to my wrist.

Suddenly I hear Malfoy cry...

"No!"

And the next thing I know, I'm knocked to the floor, Malfoy holding my wrist, which is holding the knife, which continues to dance. My cheeks feel cold...holy shit. I'm crying. Why the hell am I crying? Why is Malfoy still on me? Worse yet, why don't I want him to move? Why, oh why, won't that friggin' knife stop friggin' dancing al-friggin'-ready!

"I'll ask you again, Potter – What are you doing?" Malfoy says.

His voice is commanding, yet it wavers (only slightly, but even _that_ is strange) and he actually seems scared. He _was_ scared. He was scared I would do it...do what? Make a small cut? Aw hell, I think I'm staring to realize that's not all it was...

"I...I was only going to make a mark, leave a scar...a reminder...a lesson...I wanted to...to end it...to kill myself. Sirius...he's dead...it's my fault...Ron and Hermione are getting married...they have no need for me...my relatives hate me...I have to fulfill a prophesy...I'm endlessly fighting Voldemort...I wanted to end all that, but I couldn't let myself. I was going to leave a scar, a reminder to never go that far again...but the knife...it dances...always it dances. If you hadn't come along...if you hadn't stopped me...I think I might have...I think I may have...actually done it. Worse still. It wouldn't have mattered. Nothing I would have done would matter. Because who would be there to care about it?" I choked out.

It's funny really. I didn't know I had felt those things until this moment. It was like I had finally noticed something that was there all along, that I simply had never acknowledged before. If I wasn't crying before I am _definitely_ crying now. Malfoy was silent, so I went on. It was like the water in a bath: once the plug is pulled everything comes out. Not just the water, but the dirt and grime as well. That was what was happening to me. The plug had been pulled, and I was coming clean. And to Draco Malfoy of all people.

"I don't want to kill Voldemort. But everyone expects me to. What if I fail? Then what?" Ah, I think..._'What if...?'_ The two words I've been avoiding like the plague...not that the plague's all _that_ hard to avoid these days...

"Of course you're not expected to do that! You're seventeen; how can you possibly kill the most powerful dark wizard that's ever lived? No one would be stupid enough to think you could do it," Malfoy said, outraged.

Yep. That's really boosted my self-esteem. He must be new at the whole comforting thing...what the hell am I thinking? It's Malfoy! _Of course_ he's new at this. Why is he even trying?

"But that's just it! That's the prophecy! That only _I_ can kill him and vice versa. If I fall, the world falls with me," I say.

I didn't mean to say it – especially not to Malfoy – but I couldn't help it. I hadn't told anyone yet. No one. Not even Ron and Hermione! I can see his shock. His eyes widen slightly. Perhaps from the news, perhaps from the shock, perhaps from both. Whatever the case, he's worried. Draco Malfoy is worried. About _me_! Okay, who the hell was this and what had he done with Draco Malfoy...and could he possibly keep him there? Most importantly still, HOW CAN I GET THAT KNIFE TO STOP DANCING!

I snapped. News to me; I didn't know I had something in me that _could_ snap. But I was obviously mistaken, because something most certainly snapped and I lost control. I fell apart and threw myself into my enemy's arms. It was out of sheer convenience. He was there. So I held him.

Minutes pass and I'm holding him so tightly that I'm surprised he hasn't dropped dead from lack of circulation. I'm still crying...I've never really cried before. It never got me anywhere. But as I sit here, holding Draco Malfoy in my arms and crying my eyes out, the strangest thing happens. He holds me back.

As you can imagine, it's difficult to hold a person and a knife (never mind a _dancing_ one) at the same time, so he threw it (a bit harder than I thought was really necessary) to the furthest corner in the room. After disposing of this obstacle he wraps his arms back around me even tighter. I cling to him.

"Shhh. It's okay," he sooths.

He's saying many things, whispering them softly in my ear. I don't understand half of them (I doubt if even he does) but that doesn't matter. Because his voice is soft and gentle, like I've never heard it before.

"You're wrong," he says, once I've calmed down enough. Calm enough so I can hear him in any case.

"About what?" I whisper, my throat slightly sore.

"No one caring," he says just as softly.

"Who would care?" I ask. I think I know the answer.

"I would," he says, proving me wrong (I hate that).

"Why? You hate me!" I say, bewildered. I thought he would say Dumbledore or something.

"I don't hate you; would I still be here if I did? I never have hated you. Well, okay, maybe at first. But then it stopped. It changed," he said slowly. I can see he's uncomfortable with what he's saying. He's doing something very un-Malfoyish: he's blushing. He's so cute when he's embarrassed.

"Into what?" I ask. He turns away. In the direction of that still dancing knife. Perhaps its flickering light tempts him. I don't want that. Lord knows why, but my heart is screaming things I can't even begin to understand, especially not in this state.

"Into what, Draco?" His name rolls off my tongue.

I hadn't meant to say it. He looks shocked. It's true. I hadn't meant to say it, but it sounded so... right. It sounded foreign, forbidden, and it sent shivers up and down my spine. Well at least he's looking at me now. Directly in the eyes. He has such beautiful eyes. When he isn't guarding his feelings behind the mask he wears, his eyes portray everything. The eyes are the windows into the soul...and his soul is the most perfect thing I've ever seen...because it's _not_ perfect.

He doesn't actually have to answer my question. I can see it. It's there and it's...I can't explain it in words. How can one explain something that he has never seen? He can't, for the words do not exist to do so. I pull him closer, so close that our noses are touching, and I open my own eyes to him.

"Harry-" he starts. I don't let him finish.

I tilt my head and press my lips to his. Firmly. Confidently. Yes I'm scared as hell, but as I'm apparently suicidal, I've got nothing to lose, do I? Besides, as it turns out, my worries are baseless. He kisses me back. I choke back a sob and hold him tight. He deepens the kiss and I gladly open our mouths. My tongue delves in to meet with his and he moans. His hands cover me, as though he's trying to protect me from the world – and perhaps he is. _My_ hands are just as adventurous. It's as if I've been told I can have whatever I want in a candy shop, for free – heck it feels like I've been given the shop itself. Need for oxygen (blasted thing) forces us apart, but as soon as he takes his lips away, mine find the exposed skin at the base of his neck. This draws another moan from him...I could get very used to this.

Draco (no, no typo there) suddenly pushes me away and looks me deeply the eyes, fear clearly etched into his own.

"Promise me that you will never intentionally hurt yourself again. Not a scratch; not a bruise. Nothing. Promise me," he says forcefully.

"I will if _you_ promise _me_ that this isn't some cruel joke that you intend to use against me; because I couldn't take that," I whisper back.

"I promise," he says sincerely.

"Then so do I," I say with equal force. And I mean it. Harry Potter _always_ keeps his word.

"Changed into what?" I ask suddenly, going back to our original topic. I know the answer; but I need to hear the words. He gives me a look that clearly says, _'Don't make me say it.'_ "Please? I...I've never heard those words before," I confess.

"Never?" he asks, as if this is totally impossible.

"Never. Not once," I affirm.

"Love," he says, answering the question. "I...I love you, Harry Potter," he says with a bit more force.

"Awww," I tease gently, and he gives me an affectionate glare (I didn't know those existed...). "I...I think I love you too," I confess.

"You think?" he says lightly, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I've never loved anyone before. But I think I do love you. Yes...I do. I love you, Draco Malfoy...God, that's bound to cause some ripples. Harry Potter, future savior of the wizarding world and defeater of the Dark Lord, falling for a Slytherin...and a Malfoy at that," I say, smiling slightly.

"Your friends _won't_ be happy," Draco says smirking.

"They'll deal with it. Though Ron will probably die of shock then come back to life just to kill you," I say lightly.

"I think all the women in the school will be after my blood as well," Draco says smirking. I laugh.

"I'll protect you. It is my job after all," I say in a falsely reassuring voice. My laughter still rings around the room and Draco looks at me fondly.

"That's reassuring," he says sarcastically, smiling.

"How many times have _you_ escaped Voldemort again?" I ask. "Oh yeah, none...and what am I up to again? Lets see...one, two, three, four, fi-"

He silences me with a kiss. Good thing, really...I didn't really want to reach ten. His hands (which had at some point started caressing me again) hit a sensitive spot and I moan and kiss him back just as forcefully. It's _me_ that pushes _him_ away this time and he looks at me with slight fear, as if I might have changed my mind. Fat chance!

"As romantic as all of this is, this floor is _freezing_!" I complain, and Draco laughs in relief.

"Your place or mine?" he asks. I was hoping he'd say that.

"Mine. If Ron has to find out, what better way to do it?" I say lightly. Draco smirks evilly at that mental image, then gets to his feet.

He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. He smiles at me and my spirits rise even further. To think I nearly killed myself. Looks like I'm not so alone after all. I guess no one ever is. Just when you stop looking, you find someone. I thought of suicide, the easy way out (who hasn't), but punishing myself for such a thought was stupid...beyond stupid! I got carried away and nearly did more than that. Thinking is not a punishable act.

I will remember this night, not because I almost died, but because I met Draco Malfoy all over again. He saved my life. He saved me from myself. As we reach the door, I take one last look back into the empty classroom, where in the corner, almost indistinguishable, encompassed by the shadow of the night and looking strange in its innocence, the knife lays still.

**_The End..._**


End file.
